Dancing.
(Apologies for the lousy copies, best I could find)
Showing posts with label funny ha ha. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funny ha ha. Show all posts
9/30/08
7/10/08
4/26/08
lord have mercy....
Tomorrow is Orthodox Easter. Besides taking care of a million other things, I am baking a 'lamb cake' for my aunt. It's a 2 piece aluminum mold; you fill half, and it rises to meet the other half. An easter miracle, no doubt.
Except-
(1) when you use chocolate cake instead of vanilla
(2) when the mold is a wee bit too full and leaks.
Then, you end up with a lamb perched serenely next to a pile of steaming poo.
Happy Easter, everyone! And happy Passover too!
Follow up: Somehow, the ears detached from the head (one, anyway); the head detached from the body; and random chunks dislodged. That poo was darn useful in patching up!
Except-
(1) when you use chocolate cake instead of vanilla
(2) when the mold is a wee bit too full and leaks.
Then, you end up with a lamb perched serenely next to a pile of steaming poo.
Happy Easter, everyone! And happy Passover too!
Follow up: Somehow, the ears detached from the head (one, anyway); the head detached from the body; and random chunks dislodged. That poo was darn useful in patching up!
2/10/08
Bret Easton Ellis's "Velveteen Psycho"
"How do you become Real?" said the butter-soft, black glove-leather Rabbit.
"Real is when you are capable of feeling Real things. Only killing someone can make you Real." The Skinned Horse was old. So old he had become not quite Antique, but definitely Vintage. His pony-spotted coat had been sheared nearly off and tiny down feathers and lofty Egyptian cotton tufted from his battered form.
"But I don't feel anything, Skinned Horse. No pain, no happiness. Nothing. How can I feel Real things?"
"When you shoot a nail in the back of a beautiful girl's head. Or drive a gleaming ax into the body of some asshole you can't stand anyway. Or when you shoot a kitten, and maybe an old lady."
"Will this make me Real?" The Rabbit's shaky voice grew more determined as it echoed through the minimally-decorated bedroom, on the thirty-sixth floor of the best building in the West Eighties.
The Skinned Horse lit a Dunhill and dragged on it slowly, deliberately exhaling a stream of smoke towards the foot of the Conrans tubular-steel framed bed. "Better. Or worse. It will make you Human."
"Real is when you are capable of feeling Real things. Only killing someone can make you Real." The Skinned Horse was old. So old he had become not quite Antique, but definitely Vintage. His pony-spotted coat had been sheared nearly off and tiny down feathers and lofty Egyptian cotton tufted from his battered form.
"But I don't feel anything, Skinned Horse. No pain, no happiness. Nothing. How can I feel Real things?"
"When you shoot a nail in the back of a beautiful girl's head. Or drive a gleaming ax into the body of some asshole you can't stand anyway. Or when you shoot a kitten, and maybe an old lady."
"Will this make me Real?" The Rabbit's shaky voice grew more determined as it echoed through the minimally-decorated bedroom, on the thirty-sixth floor of the best building in the West Eighties.
The Skinned Horse lit a Dunhill and dragged on it slowly, deliberately exhaling a stream of smoke towards the foot of the Conrans tubular-steel framed bed. "Better. Or worse. It will make you Human."
2/9/08
my afternoon if my afternoon was documented by Bret Easton Ellis
so I woke up in the middle of the afternoon kind of disoriented, and remembering the dream I just had where I was in the Sunshine Theater ladies room getting undressed and then I wondered why I had my pants off. I guess that's kind of weird but typical if you were the sort of person who analyzed dreams which I wasn't. My shrink was youngish and always wore boots and chewed Trident and told me every time she quit smoking except it never lasted and I always saw her when I was late, outside on her cell phone smoking her Parliaments. Stretched out, took a big slug of water from the half open bottle on my nightstand. Thought about ordering Burritoville, maybe some nachos. Bean burrito, extra guac. The usual. I flipped through an old Salinger paperback I picked up from the tiny book store on St Marks that got smaller by half every year. It wasn't one of the famous ones they made you read in school, it was pretty rambling bullshit but somehow cool. I stuffed it in the back pocket of my jeans, threw on my down coat, pulled up the hood of my red hoodie with the Looney Tunes cat on it that vaguely irritated me, and headed out for a walk. Anywhere. It was four-thirty and I hadn't been out all day. I never did get the burrito.
12/13/07
@#%!(*
In an effort to cheer myself up (I am currently choking on Vitamin Water and re-evaluating my career), here are some things that amuse me:
10/26/07
These...these are my people.
From Cousin Stephanie:
An elderly Polish man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite pierogi with fried onions wafting up the stairs.
He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
Downstairs, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the kitchen, where if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were hundreds of his favorite pierogi.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
He threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the pierogi was already in his mouth. With a trembling hand he reached up to the edge of the table, when suddenly he was smacked with a wooden spoon by his wife.
'Back off!' she said. 'Those are for the funeral.'
An elderly Polish man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite pierogi with fried onions wafting up the stairs.
He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
Downstairs, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the kitchen, where if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were hundreds of his favorite pierogi.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
He threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the pierogi was already in his mouth. With a trembling hand he reached up to the edge of the table, when suddenly he was smacked with a wooden spoon by his wife.
'Back off!' she said. 'Those are for the funeral.'
9/3/07
6/15/07
A Very Special Interest Group on Lifetime...
While googling "Fat Actress" (for reasons which will become clear at some point) I came across this highly amusing piece by USA Today gossiper (yeesh) Whitney Matheson.
6/8/07
snort
I just started thinking of someone as a 'friend with drawbacks.'
As opposed to a 'friend with benefits.'
Get it? See the juxtaposition?
Ohhhh....I crack myself up, I do.
As opposed to a 'friend with benefits.'
Get it? See the juxtaposition?
Ohhhh....I crack myself up, I do.
6/1/07
Funzo Timewasters that are Good for You
I forget how much I enjoy McSweeney's:
From the irresistable (even if they constantly reject my submissions. Okay, submission) Review of New Food:
From the irresistable (even if they constantly reject my submissions. Okay, submission) Review of New Food:
I like my dried apricots like I like my men: thin, tart, and rather difficult to chew.
5/18/07
Best career move I've heard all day.
"I'm going to quit and start diving for treasure."
- Captain Yogurt*, Patent Attorney at Large
*not his real name. You know how much I love the pseudonyms!
- Captain Yogurt*, Patent Attorney at Large
*not his real name. You know how much I love the pseudonyms!
5/16/07
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
